


A soft melody

by flaminpumpkin



Series: Haikyuu!! Random Fics [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Also the shortest, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, I don't know how to tag just take it, M/M, this is the softest thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaminpumpkin/pseuds/flaminpumpkin
Summary: The first time it happened, Kiyoomi wasn't prepared.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Series: Haikyuu!! Random Fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800349
Comments: 8
Kudos: 142





	A soft melody

**Author's Note:**

> This little one shot was inspired by this tweet https://twitter.com/maishmellen/status/1248798530753323008?s=19

The first time it happened, it was pretty early on in their relationship. Kiyoomi wasn’t prepared.

He unlocked the door with the spare key Ushijima had given him and came into the apartment, taking off his shoes and jacket. It was Sunday morning, around eleven, so Kiyoomi wasn’t too early for their weekly cooking lesson. It had been a sort of tradition ever since Kiyoomi had discovered that the other man couldn’t cook to save his life. Kiyoomi’s nose scrunched up at the memory of that fated evening during university, after a match against Ushijima’s team, where the young man had entered the same apartment only to be met with the scent of something burnt passed the point of salvation.

He had since made progress, thanks to weekly lessons.

Kiyoomi made his way to the kitchen, where sounds of running water and dishes rattling could be heard, a “good morning Wakatoshi-kun” ready on his tongue. Only he didn’t utter a single word upon entering the room. But he did trip on his own feet.

Ushijima was washing the dishes – which, in itself, wasn’t a big deal – dressed in grey sweats and an old Shiratorizawa VBC t-shirt. It was kind of a (really) tight fit on him, but who was going to complain? Certainly not Kiyoomi. Not when he could see the muscles of the olive haired man’s back ripple and move as distinctly as he was now. But what really made the young man stall wasn’t that. It was the soft humming. Kiyoomi vaguely recognized the song – it was an old song – as he listened in awe to the surprisingly in tune melody. It was soft and low. Something even himself would have never expected from Ushijima. Even after having known him for years and dated for almost six months. The sound seemed almost too delicate compared to the literal mountain of muscles it was emanating from.

He took a step closer, wanting to hear the soft music more clearly, only for his knee to collide rather loudly with the foot of the kitchen table. The humming stopped and the other man looked over his shoulder, eyes slightly wide in surprise.

“Oh. Good morning, Kiyoomi. I’m sorry, I did not hear you come in,” came the low rumble of Ushijima’s voice.

Kiyoomi grumbled his response and speed walked down the hallway to hide himself, saying he’d go to the bathroom to wash his hands. Which he did, furiously, embarrassed at his own reaction. He could feel his cheeks burning underneath his mask. If he hadn’t been such a klutz, he wouldn’t have been caught red ended and would’ve been able to listen a while longer.

 _Next time_ , he thought. _Next time, I’ll be prepared_.

As a matter of fact, the next time it happened, Kiyoomi still wasn’t ready. But at least he didn’t bump into furniture.

It was Sunday again when he found himself standing at the entrance of the kitchen, listening to the deep tune of Ushijima’s voice. He was humming along a song coming from the speaker of his phone. It was an old song again, but more upbeat this time, more joyful. Some late 80’s j-pop, if he wasn’t mistaken (not that he’d ever admit how he knew that).

Kiyoomi just stood there, resisting the urge to wash his hands itching at the back of his mind, and just enjoyed the moment. Ushijima deep voice contrasted nicely with the high pitched instrumental of the song. The young man couldn’t help the small smile spreading on his face. He wanted to be closer, to wrap his arms around the other man and feel the vibration of his boyfriend’s voice under his hands, against his own chest. So he went to wash his hands quickly (but thoroughly) and came back in the kitchen, padding soundlessly on the wooded floor only to find Ushijima drying his hands. He furrowed his brows, lower lip protruding in a disappointed pout. Had it really taken that long for him to wash his hands? Maybe so. But at least he’d had a small taste of Ushijima’s voice again.

The other turned around, coming face to face with a pouty Kiyoomi.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked, voice lilting in worry.

The young man shook his head immediately in reassurance.

“No. Nothing.”

He leaned in to kiss Ushijima lightly on the lips when he saw him furrowing his brows, visibly doubtful. The crease between the older man’s eyebrows smoothed out and his lids fluttered shut as he followed the retreating lips. Kiyoomi initiating any sort of physical contact, especially something like kissing, willingly and without any preamble was a sign he felt safe. And they both knew it. Deciding to indulge his boyfriend, Kiyoomi leaned back in and pressed his lips more firmly against Ushijima’s chapped ones, cupping his face gently between his knobby fingers.

When he backed away again, it was final. Ushijima knew better than to ask for more than Kiyoomi was ready to give, so he just took a step back.

“So what do you have in mind for today?”

“I was thinking hayashi rice,” Kiyoomi hummed. “Do you have everything?”

“Probably,” the other man answered, going to open his fridge and rummaged inside, getting the items out and placing them on the counter.

Kiyoomi shook off his training jacket, trading it against an apron, and took out two cutting boards and knives.

“Ready when you are.”

His boyfriend nodded at him and came to stand beside him to start cutting the meat. Kiyoomi mourned the fact that Ushijima wasn’t humming anymore. But this wasn’t bad either.

The tenth time it happened (yes, he kept tabs of when the phenomenon occurred) Kiyoomi was lounging uselessly on his couch, wrapped tightly in a blanket like the feverish human burrito he was while Ushijima kept himself busy in the kitchen.

He had come down with the flu earlier that week and the older man had decided to come and take care of him, despite the former’s unrelenting protests. _Why did I give him the damn key?_ he had thought at the sight of his boyfriend walking past him with grocery bags full of god knows what. Which brought him back to his current predicament. He had been drifting in and out of sleep the whole afternoon after Ushijima had forced him to eat some rice porridge he made – fortunately without burning the whole apartment building to the ground. So he was quite dizzy when the deep, soft sound of Ushijima’s voice came floating from the open kitchen. The gentle rhythm of the low humming a soothing balm to Kiyoomi’s crippled body. Fighting off the sleepiness, he stood up and shuffled his way to the kitchen, following the sweet melody.

And, surely enough, he found his boyfriend at the sink, sleeves of his shirt rolled back to his elbows as he washed the dishes absentmindedly, humming quietly. Kiyoomi closed his eyes and sighed. He had never been more grateful for finding out Ushijima’s little quirk than at this moment, listening idly to the deep vibrations while being half way to euphoria. Opening his bleary eyes, he tried to focus again, enough to walk closer. But when he noticed the slight sway of Ushijima’s hips he thought that _maybe_ he should go back to sleep instead. There was no way this was real and not a part of one of Kiyoomi’s fever induced dreams.

He grumbled under his breath senselessly as he went back to lie down on the couch. Karma had a thing for interrupting.

The thirty-seventh time it happened was the morning after they moved in together.

Kiyoomi padded out of their room bare feet, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes as he slalomed between the cardboard boxes scattered all over the place. It was a mess, really. He perked up the sound of dishes and cutlery rattling in the sink and water running. Eagerness rose in him and made him walk faster. What better way to inaugurate the place than this? Shuffling his way to the kitchen, he found himself stopping abruptly at the sight offered to him.

Ushijima was indeed standing at the sink, having apparently decided to wash all their dishes and cutlery, judging by the discarded boxes on the floor next to him. The muscles of his bare back moved and undulated in a mesmerizing way as he scrubbed away whatever was on the dish he was washing – Kiyoomi didn’t really at the moment. He was humming happily to a song he was the only one to hear, hips swaying swiftly from side, in time with the rhythm. _Oh, so I didn’t made that up after all._

The thought made Kiyoomi snap. He walked up to his boyfriend, determined, and wrapped his arms around his waist, one hand spreading on his bare chest in hope to feel the rumble under his fingers even though he knows Ushijima always stops when Kiyoomi interrupts him. He plastered himself against the bare back in front of him and hooked his chin on his shoulder as the older turned his head to the side to peck him on the cheek.

“Good morning Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi didn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he rasped resolutely:

“From now on, you are always in charge of washing the dishes.”

And Wakatoshi just smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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